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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25557133">Are You the Boss?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ldigo/pseuds/Ldigo'>Ldigo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Are You..? [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gotham (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Jealousy, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Murder, Murder Kink, Possessive Behavior, Psychopathology &amp; Sociopathy, Psychopaths In Love, Sibling Incest, Twincest, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:47:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,423</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25557133</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ldigo/pseuds/Ldigo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeremiah and Jerome play with various Arkham residents and staff members, as well as each other, and lay out the boundaries while they are at it (or not).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jeremiah Valeska &amp; Jerome Valeska, Jeremiah Valeska/Jerome Valeska</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Are You..? [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791613</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Romeo and Juliet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jeremiah was bored, bored, <em>bored</em>. There was only so much sheer stupidity he could take from his... <em>neighbors</em> and janitors, predictable, flawed and faulty, silly little creatures that they were, and then he was once again left with a mind that seemed to be in a constant state of drawing breath to scream, with an unpleasant itching to tear them all down, rip to shreds, set on fire and watch them burn, burn, <em>burn</em>, quietly content — if only for a little while.</p><p>Jerome was his only reprieve.</p><p>He always knew this, of course, on some subconscious level of awareness that used to resurface at most dire times; like when he was but a little kid, plotting his brother’s fall from grace in order to set himself free, or when one of Lila’s flings ogled his energetic twin in a way that didn’t sit well with Jeremiah, or when he stood up and confessed to the crime that threatened to lock his other half away and out of reach.</p><p>This knowledge had never been half as profound as these days, though. Especially now, when some fool decided to run his deplorable mouth after stealthily witnessing one of Jerome’s little <em>pet projects</em> coming to fruition.</p><p>Of course his idiot of a brother had laughed off his advice against choosing <em>hands-on</em> approach, so to say, and now, just as Jeremiah predicted, paid the price for his brashness in solitary.</p><p>He’d gladly spat ‘I told you so’ right in the dunderhead’s face, but unfortunately the moment of smug superiority was off the table for eight more days. He’d likely be completely driven up the wall by then, and eagerly jump in Jerome’s arms without so much as a slap on the wrist, relieved to get him back at last.</p><p>Didn’t mean he wouldn’t punish the one partially responsible for his brother’s exile and his own two week-long suffering in absence of the single person who was able to keep up, to <em>ground</em> him.</p><p>God, who was he kidding? He’d do <em>anything</em> to stave off boredom at this point, no matter if it would be justice or completely random assault. The only reason he chose to retaliate at all was because it provided more challenge, seeing as he’d be automatically suspected as the most likely culprit.</p><p>Well, that and the fact that Jerome would be positively <em>furious</em> the moment he found out that Jeremiah had robbed him of his chance to get back at the snitch on his own.</p><p>Schooling his slightly revealing facial expression, Jeremiah turned back to observing the soon-to-be dead and rotting sack of meat on the opposite side of prison canteen. The rat, it seemed, was about as sharp as a brick. It was a miracle he actually managed to rub his two brain sells together to come up with the very idea of squealing on Jerome at all.</p><p>Perhaps he was merely a tool in someone else’s hands, then? If so, the mastermind in question was in no hurry to reveal themselves.</p><p>Not that Jeremiah expected them to, considering they had to be smart enough to realize his role as the gray eminence behind the gray eminence that was Jerome. Therefore having enough presence of mind to avoid any interaction with their puppet, just in case the younger twin took notice, was a given.</p><p>No matter, though. He’d make sure to thoroughly <em>interrogate</em> the obvious culprit before finishing the jackass off. If there was any bigger picture to take into consideration, he would find out.</p><p>(And if there wasn’t, he might just create it himself to mess with his fool of a brother. It’d serve the bastard right for slipping up like this, Jeremiah supposed.)</p><p>He eyed the rat speculatively, trying to determine the best way to go about murdering him and not getting caught in the process (for he’d like to keep his record clean and stay in the staff’s good graces, thank you very much). After all, there was no point in waiting any longer; if the puppeteer hadn’t revealed themselves during the past four days, he rather doubted they would be so inclined as to do it now.</p><p>If they even existed in the first place, that is.</p><p>
  <strong>JVJVJV</strong>
</p><p>“I know, I know. It’s hard to keep you head above water these days,” Jeremiah crooned, relishing in the way his interlocutor cringed. “Don’t you worry, dearie, no one will think less of you when they find out you took your own life. Do trust me on this, for I’d never purposefully lie to my darling.”</p><p>“P-please,” the pathetic creature stuttered in between desperate gulps of air. “I’m sorry, s-so s-sorry! I-I’d do anything! Just don’t k-kill me!”</p><p>“Kill you?” He asked, amused. “Now why would I do that? You seem to be managing well on your own.”</p><p>“N-no!” Pleaded the whimpering mess that a man four times bigger and broader than Jeremiah had been reduced to, dissolving into a fit of coughs. “I-I get it, I get my mistake, I swear! I’ll do whatever you want to correct it!”</p><p>“Hmm, whatever I want, you say?” Jeremiah tapped his pursed lips with his free hand, adopting a mockery of ‘deep in thought’ expression. “Sadly, I don’t think it’s possible.”</p><p>“It is!” The pig harried to assure, a tinge of hope almost tangible in his voice. “‘Course it is! You want me to tell everyone I pinned the blame on your brother out of spite? I’ll say I was wrong right away, I’ll say it was someone else, anyone you want! I can say it was me!”</p><p>“I see...” Jeremiah drawled, half-heartedly attempting to prevent his utter contempt towards this despicable, spineless coward of a human from reflecting in either his voice or his face. “Well, this is where you’re wrong, dearie.”</p><p>He paused to thrust the pig’s head into the toilet again, mindful of some... unsavory liquids that could have dirtied his immaculate hand if he wasn’t careful enough. He released his iron grip after a minute and a half, stepping aside just in time to avoid being covered in splashes, and then patiently waited for his companion to get his bearings.</p><p>“Where were we again?” Jeremiah continued conversationally when the incessant coughing somewhat subsided. “Right, we we discussing your appalling intellectual capacity. You see, sweetie, our little chit-chat has nothing to do with your snitching tendencies. Not in the way you think, anyway. I’m merely bored and restless. It’s been a long week, you understand.”</p><p>He was surprised to see the rat trembling even more violently than before. He honestly didn’t think it was humanly possible, but apparently terror had overridden the petty boundaries of flesh.</p><p>“P-p-please!” The man pleaded desperately, sobbing like a child in front of their recently deceased beloved pet.</p><p>“Hmm, you do ask so nicely,” Jeremiah mused, dragging the words out so as to prolong the fool’s suffering. “What use can I have for a sniveling, spineless coward like you, I wonder?”</p><p>“A-anything! I-I’ll do anything!”</p><p>He chuckled, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Anything?” He paused to take in the disgustingly vigorous nodding. “Let’s see... Oh, I think you might be of some use yet!”</p><p>After nothing else was forthcoming, the pathetic creature manned up and tearfully asked what he meant, looking like he’d really do anything to live just another day of his dreadful, monotonous, sorry excuse for a life. <em>How dull.</em></p><p>“Of course, dearie!” He placated, all smiles and compassion. “You see, honey, I couldn’t help but wonder if, perhaps, someone else was behind this splendid idea to snitch on my brother and used you as their messenger. Oh, don’t be like that! Surely you understand that you don’t seem like a thinking type. There’s nothing wrong with it, of course, not everyone is capable of independent thought. I’m merely curious about this bashful genius, is all.”</p><p>The pig’s eyes minutely darted towards the closed door, but then he nervously licked lips and said, “I-I decided it all by myself. There wasn’t anyone else.”</p><p>Jeremiah abandoned all pretense, leaving behind an emotionless slate that at best unnerved people, and made them basically shit themselves at worst. “Are you sure about that, sweet?” He asked, dangerously calm. “Your body language seems to disagree with you, darling.”</p><p>“N-no, it-it was all me, I-I swear!” The daring idiot harried to assure, sweating profusely.</p><p><em>Oh, but this just won’t do, won’t do at all</em>, he thought, detached but quietly enraged at the same time.</p><p>“Was it now?” He said aloud, studying the snitch with the air of someone examining unusual deformities in the development of an insect. “You know, sweetie, I actually feel a tiny bit insulted that you’re still afraid of someone else out there while standing on your knees in front of me and bargaining for your worthless life. I honestly never imagined you to have galls to do this, but humanity discovers something surprising every day, I suppose.”</p><p>He paused to tap several pressure points in quick succession, inwardly delighted with responding grunts and cries, then proceeded to continue as if nothing happened. “And let me tell you, I’m not particularly fond of surprises. Insults even less,” his brows minutely twitched in thought, and he softly added, “Or is it not actually fear, perhaps? Are you... protecting them from me?”</p><p>He almost missed it, but the specimen’s acting skills weren’t good enough to trick his keen eye, even in a literal life or death situation. “Oh yes, that’s it, dearie,” he announced, satisfied. “You <em>are</em> protecting that person, whoever it is. How commendable of you, really. Let’s see, then,” he mused, intensely watching for any sort of reaction. “Who might that be, I wonder? A prison pal? Hmm, I don’t think so. A dear friend since before your sentence? No, of course not! Perhaps... a love interest?”</p><p>His victim twitched.</p><p>“Oh, how thrilling! A woman then,” he concluded, smiling victoriously. “Though she doesn’t return your affections, I’m afraid, since she wouldn’t have thrown you to the wolves — <em>me</em> — otherwise. Well, well, well. That certainly narrows it down. Still not willing to help along?”</p><p>Jeremiah wasn’t interested in hearing clumsy denials, so he tossed the amorous idiot’s head back into the toilet to cool him down a bit, then let go and once again had to endure his time-consuming attempts to expel the water and regain his breathing.</p><p>“Now, as I was saying, it must be a woman, for you are aggressively straight. Confident enough in your infatuation with her,” Jeremiah started, ticking off on his fingers. “Intelligent enough — though it goes without saying, I suppose. More importantly, determined enough to cross Jerome and myself, despite knowing what such a dare would entail.”</p><p>The snitch watched him with baited breath and eyes full of fear, but he paid the rat no mind. “Who in this fine establishments fits all the criteria, I wonder? No response? Suit yourself,” he shrugged and frowned in mock thought, despite having already figured out the only match. “I don’t think there’s much of competition, sweetie. Criminally insane women these days are certainly in the minority. That obese kleptomaniac? Surely not, even a pig as yourself must have some standards. Oh, I know, I know! It’s the newbie, right? Something Keen. Such a silly name, honestly.”</p><p>Jeremiah continued to chat away, pretending to not notice how his victim visibly tensed at the sound of <em>her</em> name, failing to feign nonchalance anywhere near successfully. “You know, honey, it even makes sense. Jerome did, in fact, try to hit on her when we fought the other day,” his expression darkened at the reminder, turning his next words into saccharine. “Poor thing must’ve been really desperate to put a stop to my brother’s advances. Oh well, all the more reason to finish her off, I suppose.”</p><p>“N-no, please!” The rat exclaimed, back to pleading after silently watching Jeremiah’s musings for a change. “Please! She’s not... She didn’t... didn’t ask this of me. I decided to do it myself after the way your brother... well...”</p><p>“Basically threw himself at the stupid cunt?” Jeremiah finished, obviously displeased. “I dare say I’ve noticed. Hard not to, really, if your sibling is a disgusting slut. Must have taken after our cheap whore of a mother, may she burn in Hell. Anyway, I digress,” he brightened once again, pleased to see the immediate wariness in his interlocutor’s eyes. “Now that’s we’ve established the identity of your puppeteer, I suppose there’s not much use in keeping you around. Please tell my mother and uncle that I’m well if you meet them. Oh, and don’t forget to mention that Jerome is, too.”</p><p>With that said, he thrust the simpleton’s head back where it belonged, not waiting to hear any more useless pleas, and didn’t let go until the fighting ceased and then some, just to be sure.</p><p>“As I said, sweet, there’s no shame in giving up when you find yourself unable to keep your head above water,” he patted the corpse on the back, glanced at half-written ‘Barb-‘ in the mud, shrugged dismissively and casually strolled out of the booth, then proceeded to thoroughly wash his hands. “It’s a shame you’ve decided to take your own life. And because of your unrequited love, no less! Such a tragedy!”</p><p>He exited the toilets, finally at peace with himself after six days without Jerome, and started towards his cell, diligently avoiding being spotted on the cameras. It wouldn’t do to make the staff’s job for them, after all.</p><p>And if he were lucky, the message in mud would lead the investigators in the wrong direction, or better yet, they’d write the whole ordeal off as a suicide. Somewhat unusual, yes, but what else could one reasonably expect from a resident of Arkham Asylum?</p><p>Jeremiah moved fluidly, with a spring to his step and humming a childhood tune under his breath. Oh, but he couldn’t wait until Jerome heard about this!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I Like the Way You Bleed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Remember I told y’all not to expect this to be continuation of the drabble prior? Yeah, well, scratch that. It picks up almost at the point when that one left off.<br/>Also, all those comment talks must have gotten to me, ‘cause it actually contains smut (or more accurately, a practical application of ‘1000 and 1 way to describe sex without uttering anything remotely related outright’ guide). Yes, apparently I’m wired that bizarre way.<br/>Though I’ll do try to be more explicit (or at least <em>somewhat</em> graphic) next time around. Probably.<br/>Anyway, endure. And let me know what you think, if you’re feeling up to it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Honey, I’m home!” The overly cheerful voice of his buffoon of a brother rang over the usual noises of canteen moments before the buffoon in question flopped onto a seat beside Jeremiah, draping his grabby hands all over the unfortunate twin. With some difficulty, Jeremiah managed to ignore the proceedings and continue on with his breakfast as if nothing happened. Keeping in check the whirlwind of conflicting, raging emotions inside of him was easier without paying attention to any distractions, after all.</p>
<p>Especially if said distraction happened to be the very source of the conflict.</p>
<p>“Miah?”</p>
<p>On one hand, his traitorous heart was beating in wild staccato with the urge to grip his brother just as tightly in return, like a lifeline, like a sole preserver of everything that Jeremiah consisted of, get drunk on Jerome’s all-consuming delight, greed, <em>need</em>, take in the image of his counterpart, so similar yet different, until the world of dull gray regained its colors.</p>
<p>On the other,</p>
<p>“Anyone home!?”</p>
<p>he was still pissed at the bastard for getting his stupid, immature self into the solitary in the first place. Or rather for flirting with that fucking bint, if he was being honest with himself, which he decidedly <em>was not</em>.</p>
<p>“Damn it, Miah!” A heavy slap brought him back into even more unpleasant reality. “You with me yet?”</p>
<p>“I suppose so,” Jeremiah replied as evenly as he could manage, trying to reign in his irritation. A quick glance around confirmed that no one had bat an eye at some petty domestic violence. <em>Good.</em> He wouldn’t want to get separated from Jerome so soon after getting him back, now would he?</p>
<p>His other, more expressive half rolled his eyes in fond exasperation, all traces of angry impatience gone. “Not in the mood for enthusiastic welcome, I see. Surely ya can’t still be that pissed at my mistake, baby bro! Happens to everyone, y’know,” he shrugged, completely unapologetic, which only angered Jeremiah more. “Wait! Ya ain’t even particularly surprised that I’m released four days and a half early.”</p>
<p>“Might have something to do with the apparent shortage of holding cells in that wing,” Jeremiah suggested blandly, keeping his facial muscles from rearranging themselves in a smirk by sheer stubbornness. He didn’t want to give in so easily, but it was a losing battle. His obnoxious twin had always had this effect on him.</p>
<p>“Aww, sweetheart, lonely much? I’m flattered!” Jerome cooed with a revolting exaggerated wink.</p>
<p>“I’m positive I don’t know what you mean,” Jeremiah deadpanned. “And you’re deluding yourself with those narcissistic illusions of grandeur of yours again. Even if — and only <em>if</em> — I got bored and played around for a bit, it certainly didn’t have anything to do with you.”</p>
<p>“Sure thing, doll,” Jerome nodded like a patient adult indulging a five-year-old (not that either of them had any point of reference to that), looking even more inordinately pleased with himself.</p>
<p>Well, it wasn’t like Jeremiah had particular faith in his ability to fool his brother — even if they didn’t grow up together, basically joined at the hip, Jerome was far more perceptive and intelligent than he usually let on.</p>
<p>But still. Jeremiah might have went through all this trouble to get his other half out earlier than expected, but that didn’t necessarily negate Jerome’s abhorrent decisions prior to his confinement.</p>
<p>Like fawning all over that godawful slut, for instance.</p>
<p>Like mother, like son. Honestly, the traitor should’ve had some self-respect, at least. That stunt was just plain insulting.</p>
<p>Jeremiah hadn’t realized how hard he’d gripped the plastic fork until it broke in his hand, sharp edges cutting right into his palm. “Fuck,” he hissed, staring right at the rapidly growing puddle of blood. He heard a choked intake of breath on his right, but paid Jerome no mind, too busy withstanding the assault of overpowering, clouding, <em>intoxicating</em> smell of iron and copper and <em>himself</em>.</p>
<p>“Miah,” Jerome half-murmured, half-moaned. “Ya wanna take care of that, baby?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he shakily exhaled after a bit, still in a daze. Jerome picked up the crumpled remains of the fork, then jumped up and gently urged him to do the same, carefully cradling the injured hand in both of his own, palm-up.</p>
<p>
  <strong>JVJVJV</strong>
</p>
<p>They stumbled into the closest supply room in a heap of ravishing mouths and tangled limbs, his brother distractedly typing down the long since cracked security protocol with his good hand. It was a miracle, and a true testament to Jeremiah’s formidable mental assets, that they were granted access as easily as any other time.</p>
<p>Jerome felt like a drug addict after a lengthy withdrawal, writhing, ravenous, desperately craving their fix that was about to come. Raw and vulnerable. Like everything was too much and not enough at the same time. It was almost unbearable that they were in two separate bodies. He felt like they should’ve been a single entity, now more profoundly than ever.</p>
<p>In moments like this Jeremiah was everywhere. In his brain. In the marrow of his bones. In his every breath and heartbeat.</p>
<p>Jerome’s very existence started with his brother, and ended there. No, the whole world.</p>
<p>“My muse, my treasure, my fixation, my addiction, my possession, my, mine, mine,” he rumbled urgently, unable — unwilling, really — to stop himself, and vaguely registering that same endearments breathed in return.</p>
<p>There was something exhilarating about pounding into his own brother. Something <em>sacred</em>. They were doing something that siblings were never supposed to, and it was glorious. <em>What would Lila say if she saw them like this?</em></p>
<p>Forbidden fruit had always been the sweetest for the two of them.</p>
<p>His brother — his own flesh and blood! — was coming apart right in front of him, <em>underneath</em> him, and there was nothing in the world that felt quite as heady. Not even close.</p>
<p>It was all he could hold onto in the dark, blank confines of his solitary, when he felt as though everything that made him <em>himself</em> slipped away in those recesses, bit by fucking bit, never to be found again. He would’ve long since crumbled and bent, if not for Jeremiah; the single lifeline that supported the intricate constructions of his questionable sanity, the golden — <em>crimson, crimson as blood</em> — Ariadne’s thread woven deeply into his very soul.</p>
<p>Jeremiah dipped his lovely head down, dragged teeth along the column of Jerome’s throat, biting and sucking right where the veins were closest to the surface, hard enough to draw intoxicating liquid, then latched his bloody lips onto Jerome’s own, ravenous, like a man starved.</p>
<p>And God, he was indeed — they both were. Ten days were sure a long time.</p>
<p>The pace was unforgiving, unrelenting, ever-increasing until everything became sort of a hazy blur. Everything but the sensations spreading out through his very being like an all-consuming blaze.</p>
<p>Nothing could ever replace this — Jeremiah’s body against his, their sweaty skin sliding together like it were the most natural state of being. It was euphoric. Pure ecstasy.</p>
<p>Jerome could hardly breathe. He couldn’t think past the fog and his own heartbeat wildly plummeting in his ears, perfectly synchronized with his brother’s. Not that he especially needed to — Jeremiah was the only thing that mattered anyway.</p>
<p>They broke the kiss, groaning, panting greedily. Miah threw his head back with a whimper, not even wincing at the loud thud of his ginger crown colliding with the wall. He probably didn’t even notice, too far gone to register much of anything. These were the only times when his overactive brain surrendered completely to the influx of sensation.</p>
<p>Jerome didn’t fare any better himself. It was all too easy to come undone as well, just by looking at this ethereal beauty, the sight of which never failed to knock the air from his lungs. The chemical reactions fueled the flames further, of course, but they weren’t what really kept the two of them going.</p>
<p>They did it because it was the only thing that kept them from clawing out of their own skin, from succumbing to the yawning maw of boredom, and decay, and <em>wrongness</em> that was life. The only sure way to put the abyss at bay, if only for a little while, without resorting to diminishing the inmates’ population. After all, there was only so much willful ignorance and dismissiveness the staff could reasonably display before becoming suspicious.</p>
<p>His brother gripped him like he was a life preserver, like it was the most important movement his arms could possibly make, hiding his head in the crook of Jerome’s neck, biting, sucking, brokenly murmuring the litany of praises and possessive declarations against the flush skin. He was close, then.</p>
<p>And there was nothing but Miah’s vice-like hands and thighs, Miah’s feverish mouth, and Miah’s equally worshipful and demanding words.</p>
<p>The movements turned raw, more desperate, less coordinated. The last threads of awareness snapped, fully embarking them in the glorious moment. If anyone were to walk in on them right now, they wouldn’t have stopped until they were dragged away from each other, consequences be damned.</p>
<p>It happened every time they got a chance to indulge this craving, and it was dangerous, but nothing could ever stop them from giving in.</p>
<p>They tried at first, of course, but the sweetest of obsessions was stronger than either of them, and grew stronger still.</p>
<p>Jerome’s orgasm hit him like a wrecking ball, shattering him to pieces in perfect synchrony with Jeremiah’s. He was everything and nothing at once. <em>Complete</em>.</p>
<p>At piece, at last. Though it never lasted long.</p>
<p>“Yer gonna be the death of me, little brother,” he laughed, slurring, feeling satiated and drowsy. He knew it would dissipate soon enough, as well.</p>
<p>“Likewise,” Miah smirked lazily against his skin.</p>
<p>If only they could carry this contentment with them, always.</p>
<p>
  <strong>JVJVJV</strong>
</p>
<p>Later that day Jeremiah observed his approaching brother with a sense of mixed apprehension and vindictive delight. Some barely there tell-tail signs, such as particular spring to Jerome’s step, indicated that elder Valeska hadn’t taken the news of <em>his</em> snitch’s untimely demise especially well. However, the chosen place of confrontation — that thrice damned canteen — honestly baffled the younger.</p>
<p><em>Surely sex couldn’t have possibly placated him enough to opt against violent response</em>, Jeremiah frowned. He hated it when he couldn’t immediately decipher Jerome’s motives.</p>
<p>Casually strolling up to Jeremiah’s seated form, all innocent smiles and twinkling eyes, Jerome draped himself around his shoulders in that well-practiced gesture, raising all sorts of alarms in Jeremiah’s head. “How are you faring this lovely evening, dear brother of mine?” He inquired with achingly genuine interest.</p>
<p>Oh, Jeremiah certainly didn’t like this. <em>Not. One. Bit.</em></p>
<p>“Perfectly well, thank you,” he responded, lips parting in equally sincere smile. Jerome hummed noncommittally and stole a piece of lettuce from his plate.</p>
<p>Gradually, Jeremiah relaxed — at least on the outside. Inwardly he just strengthened his resolve to get to the bottom of this, preferably avoiding his sibling’s retaliation altogether in the process. Or more realistically, circumventing it to better suit his own needs.</p>
<p>“So, how are ya gonna make it up to me?” His brother asked lightly after a few minutes of silence.</p>
<p>“Make it up to you,” he parroted in his second-best incredulous voice. “Pray tell, make <em>what</em> up, exactly?”</p>
<p>Jerome snorted in decidedly non-amused tone, then beamed with mock-sincerity. “Yeah, that’s right, sweetheart. I do believe you owe me for your <em>admirable</em> efforts in pest control. Lethal, I’d say.”</p>
<p><em>Two could play this game</em>.</p>
<p>Jeremiah made a show of frowning and tapping his chin, then lighting an imaginary bulb. “Oh, you mean that lackluster oaf who drowned himself?” He asked, as genuinely curious as he was able to pull off without breaking the role and grinning in smug satisfaction at his interlocutor’s misfortune.</p>
<p>“Save it for the staff, will you, dearest?” Jerome carelessly waved him off, not sounding the least bit offended or angry. <em>It did not bode well.</em> “We both know you’ve helped the pal along.”</p>
<p>The perfectly formulated denial, born mostly of his desire to prolong their little game, was already on the tip of Jeremiah’s tongue, but he cordially smiled through it. It was time to throw off his opponent, if he had any hope of deciphering Jerome’s plan of retribution, whatever it was.</p>
<p>“Perhaps,” he allowed with a note of plausible deniability, with reluctance that shouldn’t have seemed too out of character, while still being different enough to hopefully confuse his fellow genius for a moment.</p>
<p>Jerome half-closed his eyes in satisfaction — not exactly real one, though with him one never knew for sure. It was one of the reasons they got along so relatively well, after all.</p>
<p>“So?” The elder twin ventured.</p>
<p>“So?” He repeated in mock puzzlement, unable to help himself. It was unlikely that he’d manage to bring Jerome to break his composure, far more resistant than his brother let on, but it sure as hell never stopped Jeremiah from trying, poking and prodding for the openings that just <em>weren’t there</em> more often than not, at least not in the context such as this.</p>
<p>“So, how are you going to placate me, o mighty beasts’ tamer? I’m willing to act as your sounding board for bouncing off ideas.”</p>
<p>Jeremiah chuckled. “Alright,” he shot his counterpart a winning smile, “how about the culprit? The real one, of course.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Jerome blinked, but quickly regained himself. “Suspected as much, actually. I’m all ears, sweetheart.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Slough of Despond</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m sorry. Real life (or aimless existence, more like) is a bitch. Haven’t conjured up anything worth the effort of typing it down in months, in case you’ve noticed, but this dreadful period seems to be passing, thankfully. For now I hope you’ll enjoy the drabble below.<br/>Oh yes, and there are some warnings before you begin. There’re going to be suicidal thoughts, as well as a suicide attempt, so if such things trigger you, you may want to skip this piece. I promise we’ll get back to violence, mind games and the like in the next one.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jeremiah was led through long since familiar maze of corridors  until he reached the very office he had to endure for months now. The door was open, once again robbing him of his chance to finally figure out the name of his shrink, and he pushed down the fleeting pang of irritation, despite it being the first semblance of actual emotion he’d felt in a while. It wasn’t like her name was important anyway, and since the woman never bothered to reintroduce herself, she clearly thought so too.</p><p>Or maybe she was self-entitled enough to delude herself into assuming that he’d memorized her name from the start, but her faulty thought process was no concern of Jeremiah’s.</p><p>The guard pushed him into the office — somewhat gently, because his portrayal of a sweet and non-violent kid was apparently deserving of a bloody Oscar or something — and shut the door behind him.</p><p>The delusional bint got up, smiling as though nothing could possibly make her happier than the sight of her <em>favorite</em> patient. Unfortunately for her, her acting skills were sub par at best, in contrast to her perceptiveness — though thankfully, the rest of the faculty didn’t share her opinion on him, either foolish enough to fall for his act or just not giving a damn.</p><p>“Hello, Jeremiah,” the bitch intoned gently, condescendingly. “Do you know why you are here?”</p><p>He merely stared at her blankly — not out of interest, of course, but there wasn’t anything else to look at. He’d memorized the layout of her dull, impersonal office ages ago.</p><p>As per usual, her facial expression barely crippled before smoothing over once again. After all, she’d long since learned to not expect anything different from him. Hopefully she’d give up on attempting to get a rise out of him soon enough, as well.</p><p>Judging by her disappointed sigh (carefully designed to guilt-trip those stupid enough to fall for the act, no doubt), today was not that day yet. A pity.</p><p>“Jeremiah,” she repeated softly, her voice a perfect balance between sympathetic and admonishing, “despite what you may think of me, and this facility as a whole, I — <em>we</em> — are here to help you. You have us all worried, Jeremiah. Even night shift personnel has noticed your mood decline. Are you experiencing a depressive episode despite the medicine that should’ve prevented any relapse?” Jeremiah refrained from reacting to her words in any way, lest he accidentally gave away that he’d long since perfected the art of inconspicuously disposing of the stupid meds that left him sluggish and <em>out of control</em>. “If you don’t feel like talking, it’s quite alright. Just nod.”</p><p>He didn’t roll his eyes — didn’t twitch a single muscle — but it was a close thing. What did she think he was, a bloody four year old?</p><p>Too bad killing this joke of a psychiatrist required too much effort.</p><p>Would’ve been nice to acquire a death glare, though. Like the man in those comics he couldn’t remember the title of.</p><p>On the other hand, he would’ve murdered Jerome a thousand times over by now, if that were the case. And then, after a brief moment of joy, succumbed to those disgusting voices and lost his life — or worse, his mind. He was better off without such unpredictable abilities. His superior intellect would easily allow him to accomplish anything he set it to anyway.</p><p>Now, if only he could conjure up something — <em>any</em>thing — to occupy himself with.</p><p>Perhaps it was high time they stirred another revolt among the inmates, but actually followed through with the whole escaping part? But no,</p><p>“Jeremiah! I cannot help you if you refuse to cooperate. The first step to recovery is always admitting the problem, and being willing to put in some effort to work on it.”</p><p>what was the point of running away if they had nowhere to run to? Haley’s was surely not an option, even if they knew where the crew was at this very moment, which they didn’t, and living on the streets was hardly feasible in the long run. And they couldn’t count on Jerome’s contacts in Gotham’s criminal underbelly either, since they would be outed the moment bloody Gordon gave the slightest indication that he was looking in the right direction. No honor among thieves, as the saying went.</p><p>Unbidden, the image of a nice, secure, remote bunker with a wast labyrinth of corridors that mirrored each other without fault, dizzying anyone who dared to enter it (who weren’t Jerome or himself), came to mind. Jeremiah would’ve sighed wistfully if not for present company. The shrink would’ve surely taken it as a sign of him reacting to her inane ramblings.</p><p>Seriously, did this woman ever shut up?</p><p>The thought, as well as fleeting pangs of emotions, came and went like a ghost of breeze during a suffocating calm. And just as it wasn’t enough to wind up the sails and lift the crew’s spirits, it wasn’t enough to drag Jeremiah out of the gaping, gnawing maw of boredom and decay that had become his life.</p><p>Though could one really call the world of dull, monotonous gray without a single speck of color a life? What was the point in going through the motions anyway, when even his brother’s presence, always a soothing balm, now did nothing to alleviate the bleak, dreary landscapes of stagnancy, of <em>nothingness</em>, that’d seized the control of his mind?</p><p>He started to forget what it was like to feel things altogether, unable to reconnect an image of a living, feeling, <em>dreaming</em> Jeremiah with what had become of him.</p><p>Was his mind paying tricks on him again? Surely it wasn’t possible to change that drastically without notice.</p><p>Perhaps he had always been like this, and what he perceived to be his memories were instead simple conjurations of his failing psyche.</p><p><em>Yes, you’re nothing</em>, the voices hissed. <em>You’ve always been nothing, and always will be</em>.</p><p>And Jeremiah couldn’t help but agree with them.</p><p>
  <strong>JVJVJV</strong>
</p><p>Jerome paced back and forth in front of the doors to medical wing, a mad, feverish dash before he came to his senses and limited himself to a somewhat subdued pace, then a morose shamble, then back to square one. Over and over again in an endless circle of perpetual psychosis; faster when he felt as if he would crawl right out of his skin if he remained still for just a moment, as if the gnawing worry would swallow him whole if he stopped. Slower when he could spare a bit of his tunneled focus to acknowledge the looks of unease he was receiving from the asylum’s personnel stationed nearby. Now of all times he couldn’t afford to be sedated, and therefore parted from the flimsy doors that separated him from his brother.</p><p>His brother, who might be drawing his final breath right at this very moment, and Jerome <em>wasn’t there</em>.</p><p>He wanted to scream. Scream, and cry, and hurt, and maim, and bleed, and go curl up in a corner somewhere to make it all go away. But he couldn’t do any of those things, so he paced, and paced, and paced, and paced some more.</p><p>Fuck, he’d swear he could vividly envision the furrow his feet had worn in the concrete paving the floor, despite the utter impossibility of such an impact.</p><p>“Mr. Valeska,” a twink in a white coat — <em>where did he come from?</em> — hesitantly reached for his trembling arm, and Jerome could barely refrain from gripping the other man and shaking the answers right out of him. “Please, calm down, Mr. Valeska. He’s stable.”</p><p>“He is... stable?” Jerome repeated, more of a question than an answer.</p><p>“Yes,” his beacon of hope nodded, and the elder twin felt all the air leaving his lungs in a whoosh, taking anxiety and impotent rage with. “And even conscious.”</p><p>Only to be replaced by blazing, all-encompassing fury at the one who’d caused this beseeching turmoil in the first place.</p><p>“May I see him, then?” He asked, deceptively solemn. The twink nodded and led the way, then left them to probably ‘give the brothers some privacy’ or other such rot.</p><p>And just in time, too, for Jerome was definitely at his rope’s end in the whole ‘patient and calm’ department. No sooner had the medic closed the door than he exploded, only reigning his volume in enough to avoid the unpleasant experience of concerned personnel barging in and cutting their reunion short.</p><p>“Are you out of your bloody mind!?” He shouted, all the pent-up flurry of barely distinguishable emotions crashing down in a tidal wave. “What the fuck do you think you were doing, leaving me alone like this!?” He went on for a while yet before finally noticing that Miah hadn’t uttered a single word.</p><p>Suddenly mortified, he fell silent, unable to shake off the notion that he would see a lifeless corpse, an empty husk in place of the magnificence that was his brother, if he turned his gaze to the bed, and he just couldn’t stand that. ‘Cause it’d be so frighteningly easy for Jeremiah’s perfection to fade into obscurity and nothingness, and Jerome couldn’t escape the truth of it, no longer obfuscated by dozens of other trains of thought. To be honest, he avoided looking in that general direction immediately upon entering the ward for this very reason, but Miah wasn’t helping him out by voicing one of his usual countless justifications, and now Jerome had to be brave for the both of them.</p><p>Taking a deep ragging breath, he slowly lifted his eyes from the opposite corner of the room and to his brother’s bed.</p><p>God, Jeremiah looked... frail, not a hint of his usual presence that was oftentimes larger than life, scorching in its radiance. He looked human, and that was another thing Jerome preferred to avoid thinking about. Breakable, <em>fragile</em>.</p><p>“Miah,” he whispered helplessly, feeling his eyes welling up with tears and caring not one bit. Unlike Jeremiah, he did occasionally allow himself to display such emotions without it being a part of an act.</p><p>“It’s so loud, Jer,” his twin replied, and the mere sound of his voice, so jaded and weary, was enough to break Jerome’s heart all over again. At that moment he couldn’t care less if shrinks or anyone else figured out that there was something between them that blood relatives never should’ve engaged in, and he rushed to his brother’s side and huddled close to him on the creaky narrow bed, obsessively listening to the other’s heartbeat and clutching his less bandaged hand as though the solid warmth beside him would perish the moment he let go.</p><p>Not that he ever intended to find out, of course.</p><p>Miah paused, clearly not expecting him to act so clingy out in the open, or perhaps appear quite as forgiving, but nonetheless went on, lifeless and trembling. “<em>They</em> are so loud. They remember every single thing anyone’s ever said about me with perfect clarity, and I can’t... I can’t make them stop. Why can’t I just make them stop? It wasn’t enough to torment me from birth, no, now she has to haunt me from beyond the grave. She and her stupid flock of admirers. What have I ever done to them? Why can’t they leave me the fuck alone!?”</p><p>Miah rarely talked about the poisonous voices that whispered to him, but Jerome knew, of course. It was his twin’s own mind turning against him. The darkness that resided within was a fierce, beautiful, arousing thing, but not always a good one. At times it turned to be too much, and Jeremiah needed an out. Jerome was more than willing to provide, and it worked.</p><p>Or used to, until a few hours ago.</p><p>Jerome was similar, of course, but not the same. He didn’t mind retreating into his own head, because it was safe; he never had to deal with poisonous thoughts that he couldn’t overcome no matter how much he tried. If Jeremiah were to retreat into his, he would’ve carved his way back out tooth and nail, because it was the farthest thing from safety one could possibly get.</p><p>And Arkham didn’t provide enough of a distraction, not anymore. They needed to get out. They needed to have something in place for the time they did, because an actual breakout was the easiest part.</p><p>It was fitting into the world after the deed that’d stayed their hand so far. They had no one, nothing to turn to upon their escape, because Jerome was too stupid to bide his time and get everything in place like he’d planned to, to properly secure his position in Gotham’s criminal ranks and reserve a spot for his brother. No wonder Miah had been too mad to conduct a suicide pact, not to mention talk to Jerome about his mental state. He wouldn’t have confided in himself as well, if he were in his twin’s place.</p><p>Though if that were the case, they both would’ve been long free by now. Of course anyone with half a brain would recognize him for the failure of a brother that he was, and Jeremiah was far from stupid. Such a display of distrust was perfectly understandable, really.</p><p>“Do you still want to silence them?” He asked through the limp lodged deep in his throat. “I wish I killed her much, much slower, for everything she’d done to you. I wish I found everyone who’d ever said anything about you and skinned them alive. I wish you told me what you were up to and allowed me to participate, because I can’t imagine a life where you wouldn’t be there. I wish we went down together in the brightest explosion this city had ever seen and took as many people with us as we could manage, because no one deserves to live when you are gone. I wish we left a mark that wouldn’t ever be erased, but I can’t do that alone, so we may die quietly right now if you want that.”</p><p>“No! I mean, they aren’t silenced, but... I want all those things too,” Miah whispered, sounding both elated and terrified. “It was stupid to try without you anyway. We were born together, we should die together as well, and not like this. Finishing ourselves off before the real fun even begins is pathetic.”</p><p>It was the closest thing to an apology he was ever going to get, Jerome knew. It was also something he didn’t need, because Miah wasn’t the one at fault here, but saying that out loud would only alleviate the only person that mattered.</p><p>“I know,” he soothed instead. “I’m sorry, too. I should’ve been better at gauging your moods, I should’ve thought of something instead of standing back and watching the tragedy unfold from the sidelines.”</p><p>“Stop that,” Miah protested, just like Jerome predicted he would. “You couldn’t have known. I’ve never hurt myself before, except for that one time when Zach boiled your hand and I couldn’t stand the thought of us being different, not even a little. How could you possibly have expected from me something even I thought I was incapable of?”</p><p>“I should have,” Jerome resisted, clinging to the strength of his conviction — because if he gave in, then he would’ve had to accept that  Jeremiah couldn’t be saved at all, that he could lose his baby brother through no fault of his own, that <em>he was powerless</em>. “It’s not as if you’ve never done anything unexpected. I should have been more prepared to such things after what you did at that stupid interrogation.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” Miah conceded, and Jerome breathed a sigh of relief. “But it’s not the same, is it? We both know why I took the blame; it wasn’t about hurting myself. I thought I could handle a loony bin for a while until you broke me out. I don’t know why I cut my veins open, though, and neither do you.”</p><p>Jerome didn’t know what to say to that, because it was undeniably true. “I’m sorry I lost it and made them throw me in here instead of following the plan,” he whispered at last.</p><p>“It’s quite alright,” Jeremiah smiled soothingly, even though he looked like it pained him to do this, with his dry lips and frozen cheeks. “I rather enjoyed what you did to that scumbag. And your criminal career was a long shot anyway.”</p><p>“You and I, we aren’t made for boring stuff like that,” Jerome agreed. “Criminals or not, those people were stupid and narrow-minded, and I loathed every day I had to pretend I didn’t notice that they were using me, while at the same time keeping me at arm’s length out of fear and distrust. They thought themselves better ‘cause I didn’t meet their expectations, their stupid sanity box, but it’s the other way around. <em>We</em> are better than them. They’re delusional to think otherwise.”</p><p>His reward was another smile, this one much more suited to his twin’s face, who no longer looked out of practice, like he was trying to mimic a motion he hadn’t performed in years. </p><p>Jerome would do anything to see that smile again, to drink the fragile happiness straight from his brother’s lips. He tilted his head upwards, no longer irrationally convinced that Miah’s heartbeat would cease the moment he stopped listening to it, and paused at a suitable, if a bit uncomfortable, angle to do just that, but hesitated. What if someone saw them kissing? Or more importantly, what if Miah didn’t want to indulge their carnal passion at the moment, but was too weak to push Jerome off?</p><p>Jerome was many things, but not a rapist. Lila’s image was too fresh in his mind to even consider forcing himself upon someone else, least of all his baby brother, the other half of his soul.</p><p>But his twin was far from unwilling. There was no hesitance in his gaze when he leaned forward and devoured Jerome’s mouth with such fervor that the world momentarily narrowed down to the firm hospital mattress they laid upon, and the elder twin reveled in the sheer physicality of it all, in every bite, and lick, and kiss, and caress, every drag of friction, every gulp of dry air in between. The distinction between himself and Jeremiah, ever fluid and ever present, blurred until he couldn’t separate the two of them — their roaming hands, their hungry  mouths and dancing tongues — at all, and then their minds shut down, completely overcome with sensations, and they felt, and experienced, and enjoyed, but did not think.</p><p>For a short while, at least, the infamous Valeska twins did not think at all, and it was glorious.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. (S)laughter is the best medicine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It has come to my attention that I’ve yet to tell you what has become of the inmate who’d been harassing Jeremiah to the point where he couldn’t hide it from Jerome (and thus basically forced the elder twin’s hand in killing Zach just so he could protect his baby brother in person). This oversight is about to be rectified now.</p><p>Also, those of you who are following CoM as well must be aware that I bitched about some technical problems in my latest update. I am pleased to inform you that those have been rectified, so I shall be updating my works as soon as I’m able without any outside inconveniences. For now, please enjoy this drabble (and don’t hesitate to leave a comment if you feel like it).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I repeat,” Jerome said, dead serious with no trace of his usual over-exaggerated cheerfulness. “What. Is. <em>This</em>?”</p><p>“Nothing you should concern yourself with,” Jeremiah retorted <em>again</em>, faux-nonchalant. Things were about to get violent really soon, he could see it clearly, but he wasn’t about to just let his twin order him around, <em>demand</em> answers from him, fully expecting to be obeyed at once. Jeremiah wouldn’t be at anyone’s beck and call ever again, Jerome included.</p><p>Now, if only his bull of a brother could get this in his thick head.</p><p>The next moment Jeremiah was already reeling from his harsh collision with the nearest wall, as expected. Disorientated, he wasn’t able to stop himself from wincing in time, then winced again when his lower lip, which had just barely scabbed over, split open upon contact with Jerome’s fist.</p><p>Heavy silence was quick to follow, disturbed only by two sets of labored breaths. Bewildered, Jeremiah lifted his head, hoping to figure out why his brother had suddenly stopped.</p><p>Jerome was staring at his bloodied lip — again, nothing new here. What <em>was</em> unusual, however, was that, for once, there was no trace of lust in his gaze. Instead it was full of... concern? <em>dread</em>? The younger twin had a hard time deciphering it.</p><p>“Miah?” Jerome whispered miserably, and Jeremiah could do nothing but silently admit defeat in their battle of wills even before his brother’s next words. “<em>Please</em>, don’t close off from me. I wish to <em>help you</em>. That’s the only reason I’ve landed myself in here, you know that. So tell me, who do I have to beat into a bloody pulp for daring to lay their hands on you?”</p><p>“I’m fully capable of defending myself, you know,” Jeremiah sighed, all fight drained out of him. “I’ve been here on my own for months, managing just fine.”</p><p>“You bet,” Jerome scoffed, relaxing his stance now, too. “That’s exactly why I had to abandon our previous plan and interfere after all.”</p><p>“I never asked this of you!” Jeremiah flamed up in aggravation — too fast to even consider keeping his tightly wound-up emotions in check. “You don’t get to demand anything in return for your supposed commitment! You don’t get to hold <em>me</em> accountable for your short-sightedness and inability to follow the simplest of plans!”</p><p>“Of course! Just as <em>you</em> don’t get to blame <em>me</em> for <em>your</em> decision to up and confess back at GCPD! I could’ve easily abandoned you to your fate, you know, but I chose not to! It’s not my bloody fault you couldn’t hold your own against these pathetic dregs of humanity for a few paltry months while I was busy coming up with a solution that would allow me to bust you out of this shithole and then keep it that way!”</p><p>Jeremiah recoiled with a gasp, but quickly turned his hurt into hot rage and pushed his disappointment of a brother back with enough force to shove him into the opposite wall of the narrow corridor they’d sequestered themselves in. Dumbfounded by his own harsh words, Jerome allowed him to, but quickly got over his feeble guilt and sprang back into fight.</p><p>There was nothing light or playful about it, this time; instead they threw themselves at each other like two raging, snarling animals who mindlessly fought to death, clawing, scratching, kicking, punching and biting, drawing blood. Not holding back, never holding back.</p><p>There was nothing sensual about it this time, too, albeit when Jerome finally managed to overpower him (since Jeremiah had already been weakened from his recent skirmish with one of the other inmates), bodily slamming his long-suffering back into the wall and smashing their bloodied mouths together, synchronizing their ragged, labored breaths, Jeremiah abruptly realized that they were both rock hard. He felt his brother’s length against his through several layers of fabric, as keenly as though they were naked.</p><p>After all, passion and violence had always walked hand in hand when it came to Valeska twins.</p><p>Come to think of it, there was always something particularly thrilling about moments like these, when they were so completely overtaken by vicious need that they could do nothing but writhe and grind without bothering to take their clothes off, dry humping, thoughtlessly chasing their pleasure  with single-minded determination that was nigh unparalleled, rivaled only by their urge to inflict pain upon outsiders, to make them suffer just as the twins had been suffering for the course of their whole lives.</p><p>Life was not fair, after all, except for those times when one took matters in one’s own hands and <em>fought back</em>.</p><p>Those thoughts didn’t — <em>couldn’t</em> — linger, though. Jeremiah’s mind was numbed, quieted. He was reduced to his baser instincts, to the perception of scents, and pants, and noises, and the all-encompassing warmth that’d engulfed him whole. It was one of those rare moments when he could truly let go. He did not think or pretend, he just felt, and the feeling was absolute.</p><p>He downright <em>melted</em> into his brother’s gentle arms, surrendered fully to overwhelming sensations that were short-circuiting his frizzled brain, as if there was nothing he’d rather be doing (which there wasn’t, not in this moment). And afterwards, when their hearts and breaths were calming down as one, Jerome hugged him so tight his bones were almost creaking, and Jeremiah felt safe and protected, cherished and <em>loved</em>.</p><p>“Seriously, though,” Jerome prompted out of the blue some time later, seemingly getting on with their earlier conversation as if they had never taken a detour to fight and fuck. “Who touched you?”</p><p>“And what are you going to do if I tell you? Kill them?” Jeremiah demanded, trying to mask the way his muscles tensed defensively — an effort in futility, since Jerome, the bastard, timed his resumed interrogation perfectly with their moment of contentment and relaxation.</p><p>“Kill them?” Jerome scoffed, amused. “No, of course not, little brother! Who do you peg me for? I’ll be merely helping the poor soul along, since they obviously have a death wish. By the way, aren’t those suicidal types supposed to be held in a separate wing of their own or something?”</p><p>“No, they aren’t. Not in Arkham at least,” Jeremiah shook his head, then added, “Which is good for you,” because it was the truth.</p><p>“Lies!” Jerome declared with a snicker. “I would never wish to end my life so long as you’re still breathing.”</p><p>“Good,” Jeremiah nodded in vicious satisfaction. “No one other than me deserves to kill you, not even you.”</p><p>Jerome just smiled lazily, not at all bothered by what anyone else would perceive as insane. “Goes both ways,” he shrugged. “Funny that you’d bring our childhood promise up, though, because <em>someone</em> clearly hasn’t gotten the memo, if your injuries are anything to go by. Now, little brother, I’ll ask you again. Who is <em>dying</em> to acquaint themselves with my brotherly love?”</p><p>Jeremiah attempted to extract himself from Jerome’s embrace, but as expected, there was no give. Seeing no other option (or more accurately, not bothering to search for one), he grudgingly disclosed his <em>avid</em> pursuer’s identity.</p><p>“Seriously?” Jerome blinked. “I thought he stopped bothering you shortly after I’d showed up. You said he told you something he never told anyone else, just so that your blackmail material invalidated his and vice versa.”</p><p>“I thought so too,” Jeremiah reluctantly admitted, then scowled sourly at his soul’s unimpressed face. “What? I’m a compelling person. And for fuck’s sake, stop looking at me like that — we <em>both</em> were fairly certain it would be enough, after all.”</p><p>“That we did,” his brother conceded. “Though to be fair, you never shared with me what exactly he told you. It was hardly productive for making a correct assumption as to whether or not the fucker would leave you alone.”</p><p>“And yet you believed me when I told you it was perfectly adequate.”</p><p>“Of course,” Jerome soothed him as he would an agitated animal (well, as any normal person would, to be precise, because his psychopath of a sibling would more likely torture and kill the creature than offer it comfort). “You know I always believe you, Miah. When you are not lying too obviously, at least.”</p><p>Appeased despite himself, Jeremiah merely rolled his eyes, not bothering with a verbal response. Jerome chuckled and kissed him on the forehead.</p><p>“Shh, baby bro,” he cooed, which was both degrading and gratifying. “Doncha worry about a thing. Big brother will take care of everything.”</p><p>Jeremiah wouldn’t admit it even under extreme torture, but he kind of liked the sound of that.</p><p>
  <strong>JVJVJV</strong>
</p><p>There was a large bulk of a man seemingly pinned beneath Jerome’s scorching gaze — Jeremiah could picture it very well, having been on the wrong side of such a gaze himself more times than he could count.</p><p>“You sure you’re fine ending up in solitary so soon after arriving here?” He asked casually, strolling up to where his brother was looming over the man.</p><p>“Fine?” Jerome chuckled, not turning in his direction even for a second — something that Jeremiah had never been exactly fond of. “Oh no, no no no, I’m not <em>fine</em> with it. I’m perfectly willing, actually. Don’t you recognize this piece of shit, Miah?” He inquired quizzically, as though he didn’t know that Jeremiah had hardly ever been able to spare an ounce of his attention to anything other than Jerome in moments like this. He did glance away for a second now, though, and couldn’t help but gasp.</p><p>“Ah, you get it,” Jerome nodded, satisfied, then addressed the man again. “See, meathead, my baby brother knows the rule — <em>my</em> rule — by heart, and soon you will, too. It’s a pity you won’t be able to abide by this knowledge — or do anything else — ever again,” he cackled rather maniacally, enjoying the shivers running through the much larger frame of his captive, who still hadn’t moved an inch, probably paralyzed with fear.</p><p>“It’s quite simple, really,” his brother talked over his sweet silent reminiscing of all the <em>engaging</em> games the two of them had gotten up to back at Haley’s. “And yet almost no one seems to get it right. Allow me to educate you, then, my dim-witted friend. <em>Nobody</em> touches what is mine. <em>Fucking nobody</em>!”</p><p>The mountain of a man trembled all over — rather comically, if you asked Jeremiah. He could barely stifle a snort, while Jerome, of course, didn’t even bother.</p><p>“Ple-please,” the man begged, not at all dissimilar to countless others in this same situation, and this time the younger twin couldn’t help but chuckle and roll his eyes. Honestly, weren’t there any other sorts of people around, like those who didn’t prove to be spineless cowards, for example? He’d been doubting their existence altogether more and more with each passing day.</p><p>Jerome appeared equally bored with the spectacle, not even taking pleasure from the pathetic man’s obvious misery. He shook his head in mock disappointment before taking a step back and bending over to pick up an inconspicuous-looking paper-bag — Jeremiah himself, to his shame, hadn’t even noticed it until now.</p><p>“Is it... a <em>hatchet</em>?” Jeremiah asked in disbelief once the contents of the package were revealed. “The hell is one doing in a looney bin where any random psychopath can get their hands on it and wreak havoc however they please?”</p><p>“I’m a resourceful person,” Jerome shrugged dismissively, as though his craftiness was nothing to be amazed (or concerned, if you were anyone other than the love of his life) about. But Jeremiah saw his response for the lie it was, because his brother was a vain creature that soaked up praises like a sponge, not at all dissimilar to himself.</p><p>Still, Jerome’s overinflated ego hardly needed further stroking. “What are you, a bloody Patrick Bateman?” He scoffed instead of acknowledging his brother’s talents, fully aware of how much Jerome despised the film and especially the book. Not that their assessments differed any. “Besides, don’t you think it’d be a <em>tiny</em> bit obvious who were the likely perps after such a noticeable approach?”</p><p>“Not at all I don’t,” Jerome retorted, scowling at the unflattering comparison. “After all, we are currently showing around that new kid, what’s his name again?”</p><p>“Who cares,” Jeremiah shrugged a shoulder. “And be it as it may, his testimony is not enough and you know that. Especially considering that this particular scumbag attempted to proposition me on more than one occasion, not at all bothering to be subtle about it.”</p><p>“Proposition,” Jerome repeated flatly, his face blank to the point of being unnerving. “Did you <em>have</em> to remind me of this, Miah? Keep in mind that I’m blaming you if they find some biological evidence because I was too sloppy in my rage.”</p><p>“Good luck with that,” Jeremiah scoffed dismissively. “I’ve been here for months on my best behavior, while you, on the other hand, are a relative newcomer, and have a recent history of being overprotective when it comes to me. They would undoubtedly trust my word over yours.”</p><p>But his brother didn’t appear to be listening to Jeremiah’s rather sound reasoning. He stared unseeing at his victim, unpleasant thoughts creasing his forehead and darkening his eyes.</p><p>The kneeling man, being no fool, chose that moment to spring to his feet and bolt down the corridor, as if it would help him any against two Valeskas out for his blood, even if one of them was currently deep in thought. Honestly, crying out for help would’ve surely been a better option.</p><p>And indeed, even before Jeremiah could push off the wall, Jerome had already thrown his hatchet as though it were a boomerang or a throwing stick.</p><p>The large man dropped like a stone, hit in the back of his knees by the blunt side of the weapon. Not missing a bit, Jerome skipped towards his victim and picked up the hatchet, planting a kiss on its handle.</p><p>“Your struggles cease to amuse me,” he simply said, all traces of playfulness gone from his tone.</p><p>“What a coincidence, your pathetic attempts at threatening me are getting old as well,” the dead man walking (or not, as of now) rebuffed, his semi-decent sarcasm belied by trembling lips and hoarse voice. “You may kill me now, but don’t think for a second that you’ll be getting away with it.”</p><p><em>How fitting that the man would finally show some backbone</em>, Jeremiah mused, chuckling under his breath, <em>when his own is about to be revealed for all the world to see</em>.</p><p>“I might or I might not,” Jerome conceded easily. “But you’re still dead either way, honey.”</p><p>With that said, his sicko of a brother cackled gleefully and brought down the hatchet, then repeated the motion again, and <em>again</em>... Jeremiah wondered where the laughing was coming from.</p><p>It was coming from him.</p><p>The beheaded, disfigured corpse fell like a heavy sack of worthlessness that it was, a loud thud resonating through the still miraculously empty corridor, but Jeremiah wasn’t looking at it. No, he had eyes only for his madly grinning twin.</p><p>Splattered in blood, Jerome looked riveting; like a hurricane, like a spacious house on fire. Jeremiah had never seen anything so enticing. </p><p>“What, cat got your tongue?” His crimson-soaked counterpart singsonged, and even his voice sounded mesmerizing.</p><p>Jeremiah blinked. “No, no, not at all, dear brother of mine," he purred, his cadence more seductive than intended, gaze dropping to Jerome’s blood-smeared lips, then returning to his joyous eyes.  "Just giving it a rest," smiling, he added; “for now."</p><p>As expected, Jerome’s eyes retraced the same path his own had just taken, turning into two dark whirlpools. He stepped forward seemingly on instinct, then again. Jeremiah met him halfway, immediately dragging his twin into a filthy kiss, sampling the delicious liquid from his lips.</p><p>Both high on adrenaline, it didn’t take them long to start grinding against each other like mad, all the blood rushing down to their cocks.</p><p>“You’re so fucking sexy right now,” Jeremiah panted, staring into wide eyes of his twin. They hadn’t lost their manic gleam. If anything, it only intensified.</p><p>“You’re absolutely insane,” Jerome cackled, near jumping out of his skin with all the excessive energy. He took Jeremiah’s hand into his and sprinted down the corridor, not even bothering to time it with the cameras’ motion.</p><p>Not that it wasn’t the last thing on Jeremiah’s mind either.</p><p>“You love it,” he wheezed out in between exhilarated laughter. Only hours later he would remember that he’d forgotten to defend his sanity.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, here goes Murder Number One, hopefully not boring despite certain aspects of it, like distinct absence of Jerome. I dedicate it to <strong>Takene_ne</strong> for making me stop for a moment and think about the twins’ shenanigans at Arkham. Actually, I might as well attribute the whole work to them, to be completely frank.<br/>Anyway, I just wanted to remind you to not expect continuation of this particular plot line in the next update, ‘cause it really might be anything short of a (successful) escape. Even literal smut, though tbh I’ve never written one in my life and I am not particularly fond of this sort of thing. Wouldn’t stop me from trying. Probably.<br/>(Doesn’t mean that it won’t be continued at all, though. Just not right away.)<br/>I digress again, don’t I? How did you find this Miah? I almost fell in love, what with how adorable he gets when he’s all pouty and murder-y.<br/>(Oh, and on that note, have you noticed that we still don’t have a decisive answer as to whether or not he took any part in Lila’s death? Guess he’s somewhat of a Shrodinger’s culprit.)<br/>Also, please feel free to suggest any prompts for future drabbles. I already have a few in mind, of course, but the more the merrier :3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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